Mr. Brighteyes: A Simple Job
by Coota
Summary: Star Wars, done in the noir style of writing. It's first person, from the point of view of the professional criminal, Mr. Brighteyes. Rated PG-13 for some violent content.


I go by the name of Brighteyes; that's really all you need to know, as far as this narrative goes. Nothing fancy, just a few syllables so you can put a name to whatever you picture my face as looking like. 

I don't particularly relish violence for the sake of violence. That's rare in men, though not so much in aliens. Sure, there are all sorts of pretenses that we give as an excuse to commit acts of violence, but the fact is that we just want a get out of jail free card. We want something that exempts us from the usual punishments that are accrued by turning your fellow being into a corpse. I don't need those excuses, because I'm not getting any guilty little pleasure from slitting your throat. I commit violence out of necessity, which I suppose puts me on the same level as those Modrols you saw at the Imperial zoo. He's not getting any pleasure out of hunting down his pretty and killing it. He's just trying to survive, and he needs to prey on weaker things in order to do so. I suppose that you could say we've evolved to the point where we don't have to do that anymore. That we're a civilization now, and that with civilization comes the realization that you don't have to kill to survive. Peaceful coexistence through understanding, and all that rot. 

Maybe I just didn't evolve with the rest of you suckers. 

Of course, in most cases, only killing out of necessity would leave my hands pretty clean. The only problem is that, like the Modrol, I operate in a jungle. It works about the same way as any natural jungle, except for maybe the motivation. Cool, hard credits, as many as can be found anywhere in the galaxy, flow through this invisible world every day. I do everything I do, kill when I have to, and generally commit acts of moral depravity against my fellow beings because I want a cut of the action. I don't want an especially large cut, because a lot of credits makes you important, and important people in my business get plastered even more often than us regular slobs. 

The bottom line is, I have never killed when it wasn't necessary. That's just sloppy, and it only causes problems. Going back to my little extended metaphor, look at the natural world. If a Modrol kills all the prey around it, then everybody runs out of food. Then they start preying on each other, because they need to eat somewhere. The same goes for this little circumstance. If I were to go around killing innocent people whenever I was on a job, then the Imperials would crack down and make sure that all our targets were protected. So, then, the only rich people not protected would be other criminals. And then comes self-destruction, and the inevitable collapse of a very, very effective system. Not that we don't kill our own every day, of course. But that's more of a king of the mountain kind of ritual, don't you know? Kind of a way of testing who has the biggest claws, and keeping the sloppy ones from spoiling the action for everybody else. I won't even get into bounty hunters, probably the most effective culler of our herd. 

Sorry, I'm straying from the topic; I suppose I could have been as competent a philosopher as I am a criminal, but philosophers very rarely come out on the top. Just look at the Jedi. The Jedi were exterminated, you say? Exactly. 

Now, on that particular day, I didn't expect much in the way of violence at all. As it turned out, as it often does when you're not expecting something, there was more than enough for everybody. The truly annoying part of it all was that it was my first lum run in a long time, an easy job that earns you enough credits to keep up with the lifestyle you've grown accustomed to. After a couple failures, most of us will hit up a lum run in order to keep on the right side of a loan shark's mood. In this case, I didn't need the money: I was doing someone a favor. 

I know what you're thinking, and most of the time you'd be right. Doing favors is usually for saps, because if someone needed a favor in the first place, they're not gonna be alive long enough for you to collect on the debt. But this wasn't a favor in the classical sense of the word. When a crime boss asks for a favor, he's really offering you an in to more lucrative jobs in the future. That is, if you carry off the favor without a hitch. You screw up, you're in the hole, and you don't even get an upfront paycheck like usual. 

I shoulda known that smuggling a couple of packets of spice to a rich Corulag family was the kind of job that comes with complications. I guess the possibility of big credits in the future turns us all into chumps. Chasing after that big score is a rookie's mistake that many of us veterans fall victim to regularly. Probably one of the only things that's almost impossible to breed out of a criminal. After all, most of us came into this line of work expecting to make easy money and getting out. It's only after a year of barely surviving that you realize there is no big score, and that if you keep chasing after it, you're gonna get blasted. Even so, the dream comes back every so often, and blinds us to reality. Guess it's a kind of equalizer, to keep us from every being too successful. Otherwise, the entire galaxy would have turned to crime. 

So there I was, standing at the door of a mansion that coulda housed a Star Destroyer, with three packets of high grade spice mixed with a bottle of Corulag wine I had specially prepared for the op. It was supposed to be a present for the household from a new hire and friend of the father. I was playing said new hire/friend, and any research by law enforcement agencies would back up my story. All they would have to do to extract the spice was pour the wine into a special solution; then the drink would fizzle away and all that would be left was the spice. It's a cheap trick, but better than the usual hidden compartment junk. Hiding something in plain site is the best way to keep from getting caught. The bottle itself was in plain sight inside my briefcase. As far as anyone could tell from first inspection, all my cards were on the table. 

Now, one of the smartest things I can credit myself with is that I never arrive anyplace on time. If you arrive on time, you arrive exactly when somebody wanted you to arrive. You've just had your actions dictated to you, and that's a fatal mistake in my business. I never, ever let someone else dictate when or where I will be someplace, because then they can plan to match. So, I will always, always show up either late or early to a drop point. In this case, it was both. I had cased the mansion the night before, making sure that this wasn't some extremely well prepared setup. Then I conveniently showed up thirty minutes later than my appointment with the head of the house was planned for. As usual, planning ahead of time paid off. 

When the door to the mansion opened to me, I was greeted not by a high class butler, but by a few of my favorite boys in grey. For those of you not familiar with the lingo, they were members of the Imperial Security Force, Corulag Division, Homicide Section. The one directly in front of me was plainclothes, but I had a feeling that I'd see at least a few uniformed slobs. After all, you don't just send sergeants to a wealthy family's mansion, no matter why they're going. The very fact that they were here meant trouble, and of course the usual warning signals were going off in my brain. 

"What can we do for you, mister?" questioned the sergeant who has just opened the door. 

Under normal circumstances, if this had been just a normal job, I would have waved off right there. I could have just said "wrong house," then be off planet before the Imps checked up on me. But you don't just go back to a crime lord and tell him, "Sorry, but that lum run you gave me was too hard. Find somebody else." That'll get you fed to whatever handy pets that he happens to have around. Besides, if this was a setup, I wanted to know who pulled it on me, even if that meant risking my neck. So, I checked my memory for all the interesting little trivia that I had memorized for this job. Things like the name of the family, the cover profession of the father, the professions and recreational activities of everyone else involved with the family. Romances, marriages, engagements, enmities, house layout, all came flooding into my mind. 

Yeah, that's right, I memorized everything that had to do with this little op. And no, I don't have one of those genetically engineered perfect memories either; so don't ask me if I do. Kids, being a successful criminal is hard work; if you go into a job expecting to wing it, expect to spend some long years on Kessel figuring out what you did wrong. The fact is that if you don't prepare, don't know every aspect of any job you go on, difficult or hard, you've already been caught. Sure, you might get lucky a couple times, and maybe you've got enough natural talents to keep in the game for a little while. But if you're just a regular guy, like I am, you have to plan. So, when that Imp asked me what I was doing there, I had everything ready to go. I simply explained that I had just been hired by Mr. Sarenson, the family patriarch, handing him my card as I did. For the purposes of this little account, let's just say that the name on it was `Mr. Brighteyes.' 

The grey coat scrutinized me for a moment, as if I'd come at exactly the right time to be invited downtown. Luckily, I had dressed for the occasion and looked downright respectable. Of course, I usually pay close attention to my wardrobe, so this wasn't anything new, but I had dressed up specifically for this occasion. Afterall, appearance is a key factor in whom the Imps decide to go after. If you look like a Rebel, they'll tag you as one, even if you've never cared about politics in your life. If you look like a moderately well to do businessman, then the Imperials will at least figure the New Order is treating you well enough to keep you from rebelling and decide not to have you interrogated just yet. I'll admit I'm overly fastidious in some ways; my hair is always slicked back, no matter what color I happen to be keeping it; that particular week it was black. My suit was a dark gray, made of some very nice silk I had picked up after a certain operation a few months back. Nothing about me suggested criminal intent, unless you were looking at my eyes. I'll be the first to admit that eyes are the thing that give away most criminals; it's because you start looking at the world differently when you realize it's divided between prey and predators. You're not looking at people as people anymore, you're just picking out targets, and your eyes reflect this. The same is true of some veteran soldiers, and any predatory animal you happen to come across. I just grinned; that was really the best way to distract from the eyes: create a new factor to draw attention away from your one giveaway. As the grey coat stood there, I supposed it was as good a time as any to inquire what might be the matter, and if Mr. Sarenson had been murdered or had committed a murder. 

"Why would you think there had been a murder?" questioned an aristocratic Imperial who had been standing in the house's antechamber and had been monitoring my arrival. 

"Oh, I don't know," I replied, brushing past the sergeant and into the house, "maybe it's because half the Corulag Homicide section is attending a private party here?" 

"Cute, real cute, pretty boy," the sergeant spat out. 

He looked like he would have liked to drag me down to the local Imperial SecForce garrison and have me interrogated till I burst. Unfortunately for him, the upper class that my ID said I belonged to precluded that particular option until it was pretty apparent that I was involved in some sort of crime. Not to mention that I sincerely doubted that the Lieutenant would follow any suggestion of the sergeants towards those ends. Just goes to show that Imperials put the wrong people in charge; if that sergeant had been running the show, I wouldn't be here right now. That's why I was surprised that so many people in my business didn't think the Rebels were going to win. If the Imperials didn't have a chance against us, whose only motivating factor was money, why would they have a chance against someone with actual dedication who was actively trying to topple their system? Well, at least I cleaned up on some bets as far as that one went. 

Knowing that I was pretty clean for the time being, I replied that I was very disappointed in the Imperial justice system if they felt that they needed to pester people who just happened to show up at the wrong place at the wrong time. I also mentioned that his waistline suggested that he was busier consuming pastries than protecting the Imperial populace. He just kind of growled at me, which was understandable under the circumstances. 

"Now, there's no need for vituperative remarks, Mr... Brighteyes. Yes, there has been a murder. Mr. Sarenson seems to have been killed in a rather brutal fashion. We're just going over the grounds in as efficient a manner as possible. I don't suppose you'd be inclined to assist us by answering some questions?" the Lieutenant suggested; I found out a few moments later that his name was Iliyison. The sergeant's moniker was Jenek, and it was apparent they weren't exactly the most effective pair in the galaxy. The names of the other eight Imperials combing the scene were unimportant; Imperial officers never pay attention to anyone but themselves, and possibly their second in commands. The latter is rare though, and I didn't think was one of those cases. 

I grinned and replied that I would be most happy to assist the iron fist of Imperial justice, but I didn't know how much help I could be as far as that went. After all I had just been hired by Mr. Sarenson, and barely knew him or his family. When they inquired what my profession might be, I made an important decision. I decided that I was a professional troubleshooter, and the holder of a Private Investigator's license. I flipped out one of a half dozen blank cards I always carry, pressing my thumb down on it as I did so. That activated the card's system, displaying my license as a Private Investigator for all to see. The other five cards are all blank, but with a press of my thumb I can become a customs officer, a lawyer, a freetrader, a minor business associate and a maintenance clerk. My cover story was that I was a freelance consultant, which could have been applied to any of those professions. It was a simple matter of a flexible back up plan. I needed to be in a position where I could find out if this was in any way connected with my drop, and whether this had been a failed setup or not. Being a private investigator was the best way to pull this off. My current job had just become the easy part of this business. All it required was a comment about how the wine was a present for Mr. Sarenson that was going to help me better cultivate his business, but since he was dead, it might as well be a consolation for the family. So, now all I had to do was give it to the grieving widow, and that would be over. 

As I followed the Imperials up to the crime scene, they questioned me in their usual meticulous fashion, looking for holes and facts that could be checked. Naturally, I didn't give them anything concrete. Imperial SecForce guys are very, very good with fact checking and finding things. They have a lot of manpower, and this allows them to cover more ground than anyone else. Unless I got a slicer to actively change things in the Outer Rim files, the Imperials would be able to discover that my investigative license was in fact forged in less than two days. Though I'd have disappeared long before then, I at least acknowledge the speed at which they work is incredible, seeing as how I was currently situated in the Core worlds: back in the Old Republic, the same check would have taken months. They do not, however, have a knack for asking questions the right way, which is what investigation is all about. That's one of the things I learned when Corellian Security busted me back when I was just starting out. It's not so much the volume of questions asked, but if you ask the right ones. These Imps didn't ask the right ones, and so I was practically part of the crew by the time we made it to the crime scene. 

It was a study half way across the mansion from the entrance; pretty far from the rest of the place. And if distance hadn't shielded whoever did the job, then the fact that room was soundproof had. It was the perfect place to commit a crime. I made a note of that, in case I needed to pull something off and get out of here. 

It was either an amateur job, or a professional killing made to look amateur. If it was the latter, it was very well done, and I'd expect to find my fingerprints on the murder weapon even though I hadn't been there for the crime. When you get to a certain level of mastery about frame-ups, there's really no way to avoid them. It's a useful skill some people have, but not one I'd like to acquire. If I do have to kill, while I won't exactly boast of my work, I will not give someone else the credit/infamy. It's an insult to the both of us. But no, this was more likely amateur night, given the positioning of the body. 

He was twisted on the floor with out a mark on him, except for the fact that his head was missing. An evidence bag sitting upon Mr. Sarenson's desk most likely contained the wayward head. I kneeled down and checked the marks on the stump that his head had originally been mounted on. Multiple vibroblade cuts, most likely because the first cut wasn't at the right angle to take his head off. Also, it seemed like some of them were deliberately covering something up... 

"He wasn't killed by the blade, was he?" I questioned. 

"Very good, Mr. Brighteyes! I have to admit I wasn't sure if you were really who you said you were, but you've definitely got the eyes for this work," the Lieutenant congratulated me. 

"Yeah, that's what makes me so badass; I can make an observation that any rookie SecForce private could pick up. Some of these cuts are across, instead of down; made to burn off the skin to remove any marks. Strangulation marks, to be exact," I stated concisely. 

The Lieutenant ignored my appraisal of his congratulations, and began to let me in on the evidence they'd collected so far. "Now, that's what we thought at first as well; and he may very well have been strangled. But then we found this: have you ever heard of the Torigen Anarchists?" he asked, smiling smugly. 

"No, and I'm guessing that until you read that note, neither had you," I pointed out. 

"Very astute. Yes, there were some marks on here and on the wall that led us to think this might not be an ordinary killing. We sent them over to central database, and discovered they were linked with an obscure anti-core world cult. Aliens, of course; the scum are always trying to find a way to kill humans. Even though the note is a few weeks old, we think there may be a connection, as it contains comments that pertain to the threatening of Mr. Sarenson's life. Those marks on the wall correspond with the letter's," he stated, pointing out the wall marks and letter marks. 

"Have you found any other letters like that one anywhere in the place?" I asked. 

He replied with a negative, but expressed his belief that they were probably all destroyed, but that the killer missed this one out of incompetence. I just grinned to myself; you gotta love the Imperials: you don't have to mislead them, they do it themselves. It's almost too easy sometimes, and now that I had nearly been fingered thanks to their incompetence, I felt somewhat insulted. I had paid taxes at one time or another in my life; shouldn't they have gone towards training these people to at least solve homicides, if not the kind of crimes I got involved with? I needed to have a talk with my local Imperial Governor. 

"When was time of death?" I inquired. 

"We think about an hour before you arrived. We originally thought more than an hour, but his secretary spoke to him an hour ago. He told her to make sure he wasn't disturbed for the rest of the day, which may have been connected with a talk with whoever killed him," the Lieutenant explained. 

"Is her office close to his?" 

"No; in fact, it's on the other side of the house. He spoke to her over the intercom system." "So, you're thinking that whoever did this killed him a few minutes after he gave that order?" I questioned. "Exactly. That, or made the call themselves, after killing him," the Lieutenant suggested. 

I grinned to him and stated that I was impressed that he'd come up with that. To tell you the truth, I was; I didn't expect Imperials to even be able to be that creative, as far as reconstructing murders. 

After examining the head and the body for any other interesting little tidbits, I smiled up to the Lieutenant and proclaimed, "Alright, that looks like an interesting lead... but I would like to talk to everyone who was in the house at the time of the murder, and everyone you've collected who is in anyway connected to the murder. Family, friends, long lost brothers, that kind of thing. You know, to see if they saw anything out of the ordinary." 

"They've all got pretty good alibis," the sergeant pointed out. 

"Yeah, and I'm guessing that two or more of them have exceptionally good alibis that just happen to agree with each other to an eerie extent. I'm terribly afraid to ask what they taught you at the Security Force Academy, Sergeant!" 

"We just had to get the wiseguy," he muttered. 

The Lieutenant seemed to be enjoying my berating of his subordinate, and that was a good thing; after all, he was the man who could decide whether or not it was worth taking me in for interrogation. I would much rather be on the good side of an incompetent man in charge than a competent subordinate. All the subordinate can do is growl; Lieutenant Iliyison could hurt me if he felt so inclined. It was a tightrope I had to be careful on, but one I had walked before with other, similar officers. 

The house certainly had a crowd, but then that was to be expected from a place this big. And of course, none of them were near the site when the crime was committed. Of course, I was never near any of the places where I committed crimes. At least, as far as the Imperials were concerned, that is. I had a feeling the same went for these folks. Assuming that this was timed to coincide with my visit, it had to be someone who knew I was coming. While that could technically be the crime lord who sent me, he had no reason to waste resources like this on a low-end criminal like myself. No, a professional would have already drilled me a long time ago. A frame up isn't a crime lord's style. It had to be someone who knew I was coming. It also had to be someone who was close enough to the victim to lure him into a room and then strangle him when he wasn't looking. What had been left of the marks seemed to look like the job had been done by garotte wire, so even a woman could have done it. 

So, assuming that any of them could have found out about my arrival, they were all suspects. As usual the Imperials had been their little efficient selves; everyone had been rounded into the main living room, with a couple of Security Force troopers watching them. After Iliyison listed off the suspects, I recalled all the information I knew about each of them. First on the list was Rina Sarenson, the man's second wife, the person I was supposed to contact if the husband wasn't around; she was a youngish woman, almost definitely in it for the money. Still, she probably wasn't stupid enough to kill him like this; she knew he had underworld connections, and that they might decide that anyone who betrayed her own husband would betray them. Then it would be curtains for her. The man's daughter, Yaz Sarenson, could certainly have done it, but it seemed more likely that she'd go after her mother. She was a delicate looking girl, with a trace of blue in her skin and hair; probably left over from her mother, a half Wroonian. She was pretty, but I don't get involved with women. There are all sorts of complications there that I don't feel like dealing with; women frighten me too much for me to ever really seriously think about involving myself with one of them. Us men are a hell of a lot simpler to deal with; we're not enigmas, and we don't change our minds every ten seconds. Whatever greater power there is, maybe this is its way of keeping me from breeding. After all, if the most efficient predators procreate, then you get even more efficient predators, until the predators become so efficient that there's no prey left. I sincerely doubt it though; I think it's just common sense to stay away from women in my business. It's not that they're more likely to slit your throat than a man; you're just able to tell if a man wants you dead. You can never tell that with a woman. 

In this case, that knowledge wasn't too much help; it was obvious that almost everyone here would've been happy to kill Sarenson themselves, with the possible exception of the servant boys. But I wasn't even counting them out yet. 

Another possible candidate was Sarenson's secretary, Elia Hisien: even if she wasn't in on her boss's criminal career, she certainly could have still found out about it, and me. Possibility of the whole scorned lover angle there, or hell, she might have been embezzling funds or something. The other two women there were maids, who really didn't have any reason to kill Sarenson, but they could very well be sociopaths who saw this as the perfect opportunity to kill a man and blame it on a common criminal. The men had just as varying possibilities. There was his brother, Revan, a big man and a former Imperial soldier, and Revan's son, a fit boy named Uristo who looked like he was going to follow in his father's footsteps. Good body on the kid; it was a pity that he'd be wasted in the military. The look in his eye, the way he carried himself, he would have been perfect for my kind of business. But then again, that would just be competition: better that they let the Imperial military drill any instincts out of him, so I wouldn't have to worry about him in a few years. Then there was Sarenson's lawyer, Liel Kire, who had just happened to be staying in at the mansion that night; it was almost definite that that man knew who I was, and that he was more in the pocket of criminal elements than I am. And I'm a criminal element in and of myself! A few young near-human servant boys rounded things off nicely. With the way things were going, Sarenson had probably stiffed them for tips and they'd killed him. 

Since I lacked any real insight into the minds of the suspects, motive really wasn't the place to look if I wanted to figure this out quick. I would have to puzzle it out via time, place and conflicting stories. This was the hard and dirty way, but the best way in a time crunch scenario. So, I entered the living room, introduced myself and flashed a grin. My eyes traced over the group to check for a response to my arrival, but none came. I'm never lucky enough to face off with someone with a bad poker face. 

The matriarch of the house didn't disappoint me; she was all smiles and handshakes. She graciously accepted my gift, and said she'd get it down to the wine cellar just as soon as she could. Her almost buoyant attitude made me grin a little wider; I pondered who in the house was addicted to the load I'd just dropped off. Almost definitely her, but the daughter could at least be a casual user; a glance at her revealed that she was almost certainly on something. Was this a result of a fight over the ryll? I cleared the thought from my mind; I wasn't looking for motives, I was looking for facts. If I happened to pick up a motive from a slip of the tongue, then that was just fine. Until then, I'd leave the speculating outside. 

After the pleasantries were exchanged, I smiled and suggested that we might get down to business, if they didn't mind answering a few questions. They of course made the obligatory references to the fact that the Imperials had already asked them questions, but I assured them that once in a while I came up with questions of my own creation. Otherwise the Imperials would take care of everything, and I wouldn't have a job. This of course applied to both my cover identity and my real career, and I'm sure the joke wasn't lost on everyone. Though if any of them gave anything away through their faces, I sure as hell didn't notice it. Like I mentioned before, faces aren't my thing; I listen to voices and words. What can I say? We all have our talents. 

So, I started off with a few questions that the Imps had already asked, such as where everyone had been over the course of the day. Sadly, I didn't catch anyone in any classic slipups: nobody corrected me when I said the murder must've taken place about an hour ago. I was dealing with an amateur, but a smart amateur. Given time, whoever had pulled this caper off could become a professional, if they kept up their practice. No, nothing interesting popped up until I asked them if they'd seen any strange characters around lately. I was hoping that someone would go into great detail about some suspicious alien, and then I'd have my murderer all picked out. 

Instead, I was the one who got fingered; the mother mentioned she had seen a car driving past slowly just last night, and that it had worried her to no end. I looked at her, quizzically, trying to figure out if she knew that had been me, if this was another part of a frame up, or if she just liked being helpful. 

Well, I like helpful women; they're few and far between, so I asked the Imperials if I could have a moment alone with her. They were happy to oblige, and I soon had a fluid dialogue going with her. Sure, she was lying through her teeth the entire time, but it was a very fluid kind of lying. The woman wasn't letting anything slip and she was definitely dangerous, but as far as I could tell, she wasn't the one. She had seen Mr. Sarenson earlier that morning, but she hadn't been the last. Besides, if she'd killed him then, a maid or servant would have discovered his body long before I showed up. 

She also mentioned that she'd been talking to Liel all afternoon; unless she had pressing tax questions, I had feeling that they had been too busy boinking to go about any serious murder. She did mention that the lawyer and her had gone for a stroll around a half hour ago, and had seen Yaz strolling through the garden. She'd looked a little dazed, almost out of it. She said that she hadn't yet mentioned this to the Imperials, because she was afraid it would look incriminating. I had a feeling that this was either a fabrication, or a creative exaggeration of the truth. But hell, maybe Yaz had killed her father. I mentioned that I doubted that this was really conclusive, but since the Imperials almost definitely were listening in on our conversation, they'd check up on it for us. She smiled at me for a second and then winked, "Since my husband's dead, isn't your business concluded? I mean, we're not the ones paying you." "You could say I'm on retainer. I always follow jobs through to the end," I replied. I hate innuendo, but hey, when in Coruscant... "But this is the end. He's dead; he certainly doesn't need a man of your talents around anymore. You're lucky enough not to be tied up in this mess, so why not just leave while you're still free?" "Oh, I don't especially like it when people who I'm supposed to transact business with die. Personal pet peeve. It's bloody difficult to find new employers, after all." "I can ensure that you find a new employer, if you'd be so kind as to let my family grieve in peace." "I think I can handle that on my own, ma'am; I think we're about done as far as questions go; mind going in and sending out your daughter, if the Imps haven't already grabbed her?" "Oh, not at all. But be careful: nobody's luck holds out forever." Well, that about cinched it. She definitely knew that this had been a deliberate frameup, and she most likely knew who had done it. She was also definitely not the murderer. She didn't have the constitution for it: she would have been happy to get someone else to do it for her, but my feeling was that she hadn't gotten the chance yet. Rather, someone else had beaten her to it, and she had figured out who it was. She wanted to hold it over whoever was at fault, and having me solve the crime would get in the way of that. She was right, it would be the smart move to leave. But no, if this person had been willing to screw me over once, they'd be willing to do it again, and who knew if I'd come by here again? 

I let her go and asked the daughter if she might answer a few questions. She got up from her seat and somewhat meekly followed me out of the room. As I left I grinned at Lieutenant Iliyson and mentioned that it would be better if he weren't listening in: I feel all sorts of pressure when I'm performing in front of an audience. He replied that he didn't know what I was talking about, but he'd look into it 

The daughter wasn't much help in and of herself. She was definitely an addict; she was so spiced up that she probably could have killed the guy and never even realized she'd done it. Probably thought she was strangling a spider or something. Not that I thought that was how it had happened; no spice addict has timing like that. That was unless, of course, the whole timing thing had been a complete coincidence. This also meant that the wife's story had been true, but she'd held off on telling it so that it would look as incriminating as possible. The fact that the girl didn't seem that distraught probably wouldn't help her case that much; of course, that was an effect of the spice: if she ever got out of the haze, she might actually be sad. Though with people like that... I think grief was bred out of them a few centuries ago. No, I'm not a hypocrite; I feel grief, and over all the usual things like love and friendship lost; I just don't let it bother me. These people didn't even have to worry about denial: they were born that way. These were people bred for the kill, while I had just learned it the hard way. It was just a good thing that they were too rich to busy themselves with my kind of crime: I would've been out of a job. Thank god they've got high-class crime to keep people like this busy. 

So, she couldn't give me any direct information; she didn't even know if she had seen her father in the past few days, much less in the last few hours. But the fact that she was loaded up on spice helped immeasurably. The Sarensons weren't supposed to have any spice; that's why I was showing up. Someone had purchased some, and I was guessing it was for the express purpose of replacing the supply that would be lost when I was caught. For all that, you'd think that the killer would have thought to allow for the idea that I might be late, and that the body was certain to be found in less than a half hour. 

I was just about to wrap up with the kid and move on to the secretary when she launched into a moment of clarity. Ok, so it wasn't really a moment of clarity, but it was a hell of a lot more clear than the rambling and periods of silence that had come prior to this. I have to say, it didn't especially surprise me, despite the fact that it came out of nowhere. The girl looked up at me for a moment, looked really hard, and then threw her arms around me. I grinned and stated that it would be easier if we both had our clothes off, but even then it might not do anything for me. She ignored me and started murmuring, "Uristo.. don't go away... come with me..." 

That was interesting. That was very interesting. Of course, I felt insulted: I'm much more handsome than the kid. More mature, so to speak, but I guess everyone has their own interpolations of how people look. Besides, like I said before, I don't try to understand women. So I improvised, "But what about your father?" 

"Who cares? Your dad... mmmm... mom, thanks...," she drifted off, and fell into a faint. I wasn't sure if she was faking it or not, but it didn't really matter anyway. I'd gotten something, whatever the hell it was. Everybody had an angle here, and I was guessing that everyone had committed some kind of crime. I just hoped that only one of them had committed this specific murder. Things would be so much easier that way. I helped her into the living room and sat her by Uristo, just for the sake of possible reaction. Of course, I got nothing. They'd probably scripted this out ahead of time. Or she wasn't involved with him, and she was trying to pin it on him. Too many angles, not enough time. I decided to move onto the secretary 

The secretary was plenty of help, because she gave me absolutely no new angles. She just repeated what she'd told the cops. I probed a few other ideas of mine, until I arrived on my favorite. "Did Mr. Sarenson sound funny to you?" "If you mean like he was under duress, then no. He sounded like his normal self. The police already asked me that." 

"No, I don't mean that. If I did, I would have asked you if sounded like he was under duress. I asked if he sounded funny. Like actual funny, laugh or smile kind of funny," I replied. 

"You must be kidding... though actually, now that you mention it, I did smile when he sent that message... it sounded like it had gone through two comm systems, and I just thought to myself that for all his money, he hadn't spent the credits required to buy a decent intercom system. Why do you ask?" she questioned, bemused. 

"I was just curious; confirming some things," I replied, and then launched off into another series of questions, until she'd completely forgotten about ever finding anything funny. I had to actively keep the joy from my face; I was just hoping that the Imperials would forget about that comment as quickly as she had. 

Then I got to speak to the good looking kid, Uristo. He looked sharp in his academy uniform, like all those kids do. I grinned, thinking again about what a waste it would be for him to join the Imperial Navy when the criminal world had so many great openings. 

"So, kid, did you see Yaz today?" I questioned, starting off with one of my guesses. 

"No!" he immediately replied, then continued, "I've been busy working on some forms for the Academy with my father; I haven't been able to get out all day." "Really? I got the impression from your cousin that she'd at least seen you today." 

"Maybe you're not very good at reading people, Mr. Brighteyes," he proposed. 

I was downright hurt by that particular proposition, but I tried not to let it show. After all, I couldn't let on what a sensitive guy I was. It would hurt my image, and then I'd never get any straightforward answers. As if I ever get any straightforward answers from people in the first place. 

"That's a possibility, kid. After all, she seems pretty tanked up. Only Imperials would go as far to ignore an addict like that one. How much is the family paying `em?" I questioned. I was guessing that would get under the skin of my lieutenant, but I didn't much care about his feelings at the moment. Maybe I'd buy him a cup of caf to apologize afterwards. 

"Watch your mouth, Mr. Brighteyes. The only reason that you're here is that my uncle hired you. I sincerely doubt that we need your services any longer," Uristo threatened. 

I grinned and winked to him, "Well, kid, you don't need my services any longer. I'm just here out of pure curiosity." "Didn't curiosity kill the Grenil?" the kid questioned. 

"Yeah, but those things have nine lives; you think they're as good as dead, and they bounce back a few minutes later. You can't stop `em when they're on a trail, even if you put a blaster to their head and pulled the trigger." 

"Oh, I think that a blaster to the head would stop just about anything. Tales like that are often gross exaggerations, if not downright lies, after all." "I never lie. It's bad for the heart. Gives you ulcers if you don't do it right." "Oh? I'll keep that in mind. Were there any other questions you had to ask?" 

I nodded, and went into a string of the usual questions, just to check up on how good of a fake alibi he had. I wasn't disappointed, to tell you the truth. He had a very, very nice story. And it actually helped me narrow the spectrum a little bit. 

Sure, the kid confirmed about what I thought he would; that he hadn't left his father's side all day. Of course, that didn't exactly mesh with the way Yaz had been talking about him. I was guessing that he'd been spending the day trying to knock the girl out of her spice-induced daze. I was also guessing that he thought it would be pretty bad if it were found out that he was boinking his cousin. If anyone found out that they had been walking in the garden together, and that he had gone into hiding when he had heard footsteps, then the rest wouldn't be too hard to guess. So, that's why he didn't tell me anything. But, for all his potential, I read his face like a customs officer reads a cargo manifest. Then I remembered how easy my face was to read when I wanted it to be. If this kid had as much potential as I thought he did, then he could almost definitely pull something like this off. Besides, he'd expect me to read his face. The oldest trick in the book; make `em think you don't know how to play, then sweep in the credits. So, either the kid didn't have the potential I thought he had, or he was further ahead in the game than I'd like to admit. 

Even if he wasn't my killer, his dad was giving him an alibi. That meant that his father needed an alibi of his own. That could mean that one of them had a strictly normal reason to try and fool Imperial inspectors as to their whereabouts during the time of the crime, and the other was the murderer. Or they both committed the crime, and were backing each other up. Of course, there was the third possibility: that they had both committed an altogether different crime, and were trying to cover that one up. 

I was tired of the run around I was getting. I knew that someone had killed Sarenson some time before any body had been discovered, and had rigged a com unit to make it appear that he was still alive about the time I was supposed to arrive. The plan had been that I would come up, find his body, maybe touch the corpse and they'd blame the whole situation on me. Meanwhile, they'd be sitting on a couch somewhere, far from the murder site. Just finding the corpse would be enough for the Imperials to book me, and then, even if they discovered I was innocent, they'd hold me for the spice on my person. Clean cut. Instead, I'd screwed the whole plan up for this screwy household. For all I knew, they were all in on it, except for the servants and maybe the secretary. So I decided to quit. I'd pull one last ace out of my sleeve, and if it worked, then good. If it didn't, I'd just kill the first Sarenson I met in the real world. 

I walked back into the living room, and announced that I had discovered some interesting things, probably all I'd need to report back to the agency. Of course, almost everyone there knew that my "agency" was the same crime lord most of them were working for. If I pointed the finger at anyone, they'd be dead. I'd let them come to me, and if that meant putting my life in danger, then that was cool. These were amateurs, after all. I thanked the lieutenant for letting me tag along, and said that I hoped I had been of some assistance. He just smiled that smug little grin that most Imperials get when they think that you're an incompetent, and replied that it had been a pleasure. I grinned broadly, shook his hand, winked to the sergeant and walked out. 

Later that night, I took a stroll on the other side of town, far from the Sarenson's digs. All I'm going to say is that the art of tailing someone has been lost in this high tech day and age. Nobody knows how to follow someone without them figuring it out anymore. If I'd wanted to, I could've lost whoever it was following me, but I didn't especially want to. Either I'd fallen into their trap, or they'd fallen into mine, or something. I didn't much care either way, so I just kept walking past the empty hangars of the space dock section of the city. 

Finally, I heard the clicking of a charging power pack on a blaster. If a professional were following me, they'd just shoot me in the back. If it were an amateur, they'd try having a conversation. "Nice night for a walk, Brighteyes?" Amateur. 

"So, Ms. Sarenson, you're the one who killed your dad? I was leaning more towards Uristo, myself, but then again our mutual friend won't care. After the message I sent off,0 he'll just kill all of you and sort the situation out later," I replied, turning around. 

"Oh, I'm in on it, Brighteyes. We know you didn't send any such message," came another voice, this time from my left. Uristo stepped out into what little moonlight there was, grinning. 

"As am I," stated a deeper, but similar voice; his dad. 

"You see, everyone was working together on this particular event, Mr. Brighteyes. It would have worked perfectly; five of us against your word. But you had to arrive thirty minutes late," came that feminine purr from earlier. The guy's wife... 

The secretary and the lawyer emerged next, just to round things off. Luckily, they didn't have any snappy lines to spring on me. If they had, I would've probably just killed the bunch right there. 

They might have been amateurs, but they certainly would have given most professionals a run for their money. That is, if the professional they were dealing with hadn't been me. I don't like to brag, but like I said, I'm the big Modrol on the block. I'm the one with all the scars who won't let any of the little guys on his hunting grounds without a fight. So, naturally, I hadn't gone into this one without a plan for any contingency. After all, I had half believed my own assessment that they were all in on it together. I scored one for my instincts, and said my potential last words. 

"You see, it would be a bad idea to pull that trigger, kid," I stated simply. 

"Why, because of the anger of my uncle's former employer? I doubt he'd care about a minor errand boy who killed one of his best lieutenants. I'm afraid your time is up, Mr. Brighteyes," the kid explained. 

I grinned widely and pointed out, "No, I think you should worry a little more about those red dots on your chest." 

"What?!" he spat, looking down. 

Sure enough, four red laser sites had appeared on the chests of each member of the group. I had no doubt that the Imperials were rounding up the servants and maids of the household, just for good measure. 

"You see, while I didn't make any calls with my com, I did make one little groundline call after I left your house today. You see, I have friends in the Imperial Security Forces SWAT team, friends who only kind of work for the Imperials, and who owe me a favor. So, they're not listening in on this conversation, but the holorecording of you people trying to kill me should be enough to convict you for both this and Mr. Sarenson's murder. That nice Imperial lieutenant will be coming by to round you all up in a few moments. Now drop your weapons before I count to three, or I'll raise my hand, and those snipers will kill everyone here. One." 

They might have been amateurs, but they knew when to quit. Everyone of them tossed their gun to the duracrete, then placed their hands on their heads. But Uristo just had to have the last word. That was one of the first things he would have learned, had I been the one teaching him: know when to shut up. 

He just smiled at me, and stated, "We're rich, Mr. Brighteyes. Even if we are locked up, we have the means to assure that you'll be dead in less than year." 

"Than I guess I better not leave you alive," I replied, and raised my hand. 

Thirty five blaster shots rang out, one for every red dot, four for each murderer. A moment later, they were on the ground, smoking holes in their chests. Like I said, I don't kill when it's not necessary. But they changed the situation, and made it so that it was. Too bad for the kid; like I said before, he would've made a great pro. 

I grinned widely as the lights from the Imperial Security Force's hovervans approached. This was probably one of the first times that I could just bow out of a trip in one of `em. 

I lit a cigarra and placed it between my teeth, chuckling to myself: I was going to enjoy hearing that crime lord explain this one to me. 


End file.
